


Forage

by fictionalthirst



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comfort, Could be interpreted as pre-slash, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I mean I would consider it this because I'm shameless, Violent Outburst, but this is 98 percent platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthirst/pseuds/fictionalthirst
Summary: “I have to be strong, for Noct,” Gladio says, an explanation of why he was out here, doing his mourning in private, until Prompto appeared. “I gotta- I can’t just-”“I get it,” Prompto says, his voice softer than Gladio has ever heard it. “But you don’t have to be alone, Gladio. Noct has Iggy. You can have me.”
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Forage

**Author's Note:**

> There was a short discussion on twitter about Gladio and the way the game doesn't allow him to grieve his own father's death, and how that would have been on point to be included in his Episode, and then I wrote this in like an hour.

“I’m gonna go and get some firewood,” Gladio says, hollow, scooped out, a chasm between his body and his every thought. Luckily, he has programming, training for this. Camp, survival. Fire, light, protection, food preparation.

Noctis doesn’t answer, sits looking just as dead inside as Gladio feels, and Ignis nods him away.

He’s a few feet into the trees when reality begins to push through, crashing around his rib cage violently. Imagined endings for his father, the King’s Shield, and no, that’s Gladio now, and Noct is his King. No more Princess. Highness.

His fist connects with the tree trunk without any input from him, and the crack of his knuckle breaking shoots a bolt of lightning pain up his forearm. He swears, feels like punching it again, but suddenly there’s hands around his arm, stopping him, and a voice, muffled, warning, but Gladio can’t hear it, can only react-

He wrenches his arm out of those miniscule hands, no match for him, for his strength, he will not be pulled down, won’t be bested by this-

“Gladio,” Prompto says, calm and clear. “It’s me, Big Guy.”

Gladio staggers backward, his hand throbbing and wet with blood, until the offending trunk hits him between the shoulder blades and he sinks, first to a crouch, and then his legs just finally give.

“Let me see that,” Prompto kneels and reaches out, carefully, gently. “Ouch. I hope the tree had it coming.” He’s smiling, softly, knowing he won’t draw out any humor, but projecting his never-ending positivity and caring. Gladio can feel his guts squirming like angry, screaming eels, and wishes he wasn’t looking weak in front of Prompto, of all people. Maybe Ignis, but not Prompto. He’s supposed to be a role model to the youngest of them, even though they’re barely three years apart in age.

Gladio watches, detached, as Prompto carefully applies potion to the cuts, watching as the bone shifts back into place, the skin begins to stitch itself back together. The menthol scent tickles his nose, he feels a sneeze welling up, but it never comes.

Another couple of drops, and then the injury is mended.

Prompto doesn’t let go of Gladio’s hand.

He sits right beside Gladio, pressed close, one arm finding the larger man’s shoulders and brushing with a comforting weight across them.

Gladio feels a hitch in his breathing, and then a shudder, and a hot wetness on his face that mirrors the sensation of blood running off of his knuckles.

He smothers the sob that threatens, but Prompto is there, and he’s pulling Gladio down to his shoulder, and it’s happening, he’s gasping around the squeezing in his throat, the ache of his grief strangling him. And Prompto is absorbing it all, the tears that soak his shirt, the sweat pressed between Gladio’s forehead and Prompto’s neck, the tug of Gladio’s fist in his vest. There are two arms around him, holding him in a perfect embrace; not too tight, but not loose and awkward like it should be between two men that barely know each other.

A hand brushes through Gladio’s hair, drawing the length back from his damp neck.

It feels like an hour before he’s done, and once he feels spent, the shame and embarrassment floods him and he’s pulling away, furiously wiping his face.

“Sorry,” He rasps after a moment.

The arms are back, a weight on his shoulders. Prompto holds him again, from behind, another perfect embrace. It’s only for a moment, only long enough for him to assure Gladio that there will be no judgement for his tears, something he hasn’t had since he was about seven years old, when his father told his mother that he was ‘too old to simply cry, he had to grow stronger’. Even that is a fond memory, even if it shouldn’t be, and he feels a few more hot tears tracking down his face, slotting into the divot of his scar, dragging his anguish down to drip over his aching heart.

“I have to be strong, for Noct,” Gladio says, an explanation of why he was out here, doing his mourning in private, until Prompto appeared. “I gotta- I can’t just-”

“I get it,” Prompto says, his voice softer than Gladio has ever heard it. “But you don’t have to be alone, Gladio. Noct has Iggy. You can have me.”

Gladio finally faces Prompto, leaves his tears where they are.

“Are your parents-?” Gladio asks, because it seems like the right thing to say. Reciprocating.

“I’m… not sure,” Prompto says, eyes downcast. “I can’t get hold of them. But that isn’t unusual.”

Gladio remembers, the Argentums are never around. Prompto’s always been this alone. And even Gladio has the joy of Iris’s survival. Prompto has… nothing. Nothing but the three of them.

Gladio takes his hand, firm and warm, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

“Thanks,” Gladio says, and squeezes the hand in his. “I don’t… I’m not used to this. Emotional vulnerability. Hence the punching.”

“That’s fair,” Prompto says, nodding, picking a blade of grass and spinning it between his index finger and thumb. “I felt like punching a few things, the last few days. Luckily we’ve got all the fighting we could possibly ask for.”

“Hmm,” Gladio hums, looking up into the dappled light filtering through the tree leaves. “And yet _I_ had to come out here and deck nature in the face.”

“Better than decking something you don’t want to,” Prompto shrugs. “Though I think your hand will be better off if you bash your pillow into shape or something, instead of a pretty tree that’s just minding their own business.”

Gladio huffs a laugh through his nose. “Sure.”

Another long moment passes between them, but it’s comfortable, warm, peaceful. For once. 

“I was looking for mushrooms,” Prompto says, apropos of nothing. “For dinner. I think Ignis might have wanted some time alone with Noct.”

“Makes sense,” Gladio replies, pulling the blade of grass out of Prompto’s fingers with his free hand. He spins it, too, then draws the tip of the plant down the wrist of Prompto’s hand in his own, a ticklish thrill shuddering through Prompto’s arm. He tosses the grass to the dirt. “Ignis is always kinda playing Mom. He’s better at taking care of Noct than me.”

“Hard disagree,” Prompto says, placing his free hand on their joined ones. “You do a lot for him, Gladio. You pick him up out of his funk and make him walk forward. He might not like you for it, but it’s important.”

Gladio sighs, knowing intellectually what Prompto is saying is true, but wishing he were more like Ignis and emotionally available. “How’d you get so cool, chocobo?”

“Hah,” Prompto rolls his eyes. “I guess I learned from my really cool friends.”

Gladio smiles, broad and genuine, and thinks that Prompto has a magic all his own, that neither he nor Ignis could hope for.

Gladio releases Prompto’s hand and picks himself off the ground, the way he would if it were Noctis. Holds out his palm in an offer to help Prompto up, as well.

“If we work together, we’ll have those mushrooms and the firewood faster,” He suggests, and Prompto’s real, wide, bright smile is back.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Prompto says, skipping ahead and nearly falling on a raised root. Gladio laughs, barking and loud, and Prompto sticks out his tongue, and yeah, maybe Gladio will be okay if he sticks with these three guys. They’re almost all he’s got, after all. He’s pretty lucky, in that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be working on my new long fic (17 Chapters, outlined! Can I write shorter nonsense??? NO.) but this poured out of me. 
> 
> Find me on twitter @fictionalthirst for Behind The Scenes fic writing/crying, and other FFXV stuff.


End file.
